


Gone To Plaid

by Aloysia_Virgata



Category: The X-Files
Genre: F/M, Porn Battle
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-01-06
Updated: 2015-01-06
Packaged: 2018-03-06 10:02:06
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 764
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3130484
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Aloysia_Virgata/pseuds/Aloysia_Virgata
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Originally posted at xf_pornbattle for the prompt Mulder/Scully, fuck-me shoes. It's silly and fluffy and she probably would have decked him if he'd actually run his mouth like this, but I like a good Vixen!Scully now and again. So here she is, in all her mischievous glory.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Gone To Plaid

It is Drinks-and-Movie night. Spaceballs is playing in the background, but neither of them is paying attention.  
  
"Oh, come on, Scully. Don't play the wounded innocent. You know very well what you do."  
  
"No, Mulder. What do I do?" She sounds cool and dangerous, like a jungle snake. The kind that swallows grown men whole.  
  
He finishes his drink and pours another. It will be his fifth, but while he was drunk enough to begin this discussion, he is not yet drunk enough to finish it. "You walk close. And you lean in when you talk and your…"   
  
"I lean in when I talk? How indecent."  
  
It sounds stupid when she says it. He knows what he means. He thinks she knows it too, but likes making him say it. "You do the naughty librarian thing."   
  
Even as the words leave his mouth, he knows they are a bad idea.  
  
Her eyebrows shoot up her forehead. He wonders if they can hover, like Cap'n Crunch's. "Naughty librarian? What the hell does that mean?"   
  
"It's not just me," he says, hoping to redirect her ire. "You're a subject of some interest."  
  
"What kind of interest? To whom?"   
  
Her curiosity makes him smug. "Max Thomas offered me Redskins tickets for details about your tattoo. A second pair to confirm or deny that you're a natural redhead."  
  
She sits up. "Why the fuck are you discussing my tattoo and hair color with Max Thomas? Or anyone?"  
  
He gets an odd charge from hearing her say "fuck" and suspects he is irredeemably warped.   
  
"You're inscrutable. People like a mystery."  
  
She snorts. "A mystery? Half my adult life is filed in our office."  
  
"Conventional wisdom is that some women wear fuck-me shoes, but Dana Scully wears fuck-you shoes." He had not planned to tell her that.  
  
"I do what?"  
  
There's no holding back now, and he finds himself enjoying the freedom of his folly. "You're saying you're *not* a cock tease at times?"   
  
Scully splutters Chablis down her shirt and wipes at it with his afghan. "What did you say?"  
  
Mulder sips his single malt. "You heard me."  
  
"You're right. Let me rephrase. What was going through your head when you decided to say something so offensive?"  
  
"Which head?"  
  
Her expression transcends contempt.  
  
Mulder opens the top three buttons of his shirt and brushes his fingers down her blouse as though playing with an invisible tie. He assumes a seductive expression. In a smoky voice he says, "Mulder, are you suggesting that blah blah blah, you're crazy?"   
  
She's watching him intently, and his breath stirs her hair. The air is rich as plum cake.  
  
Scully sets her wineglass down and gets to her feet, standing before him. She untucks her crisp shirt and lifts it, turning to show him her back.  
  
The snake gleams like a scarlet letter and Mulder swallows hard. "Item one," she says.   
  
Her shirt falls back down as she faces him again, stepping forward so that she is only a few inches from his face.   
  
His jaw hangs slightly loose and he watches her like a dog at a butcher shop window.  
  
She looks amused. "Close your mouth when you eat, Mulder."  
  
"Scully…?"  
  
"You're not going to check item two?"   
  
He feels like he's driving blindfolded down I-95 in rush hour. "I don't -"  
  
"No, go ahead. People like a mystery." Her hands are white against her black skirt.  
  
His trousers have grown uncomfortably tight. He shifts, and sees that she notices. She kneels before him, one hand on his thigh. She dips her right index finger into the inch of scotch left in his rock glass and then licks it, looking thoughtful.  
  
"I think, Mulder, that you may be mistaken." Her tone is conversational. "I think that perhaps *you* may be the cock tease." She slides her left hand up his leg and cups him gently. He makes a low noise. The finger returns to his glass, one amber drop clinging when she withdraws it. She presses it to his lower lip. He sucks at her finger and her nail clicks against his teeth.  
  
Their eyes lock and she leans forward, speaking in a sultry voice he doesn't know. "Sometimes they *are* fuck-you shoes."  
  
"Sometimes?" he murmurs.   
  
"Not today though."  
  
"Max will be so pleased."  
  
She laughs softly and he weaves his fingers through her hair, closing the fraction of space between them. Her mouth is golden with the deep, peaty flavor of the scotch and he pulls her up on the couch to unwrap her like a birthday present.  
  
He leaves her shoes on.


End file.
